


Think - Argue

by Highlander_II



Series: None Goes His Way Alone [92]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Community: 100_situations, F/M, argue, think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-12
Updated: 2009-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlander_II/pseuds/Highlander_II
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House needs to think, Stacy needs to work, schedules don't seem to coincide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out in the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=100_situations)[100_situations](http://www.livejournal.com/users/100_situations/), based on the table in [this post](http://highlander-ii.dreamwidth.org/299704.html#cutid1).
> 
>  
> 
> I've maintained canon events through Season 5 with one exception – House never started seeing 'dead people' and did not end up in the asylum. That's where the divergence occurs and the 'AU timeline' begins.
> 
>  
> 
> All of these 100 ficlets were written starting in May of 2009 and finishing by June/July of that same year.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House needs to think, Stacy needs to work, schedules don't seem to coincide. Part I of II; Pre-S1, Pre-infarction

When Stacy arrived home, arms laden with legal papers, her briefcase and her laptop only to find a hand towel hung over the doorknob. _What the hell does that mean?_ She hadn't spent much time in dorms as an undergrad, less time in them during law school and her roommates had always been women – until Greg. Towels on the door meant someone was a moron.

Rather than burst in, she dragged out her cell phone and called James. His explanation made her roll her eyes and hope he was kidding. He wasn't. She flipped her phone closed and glared at the door.

Making use of the thing across the hall that claimed to be a bench, she arranged her briefcase and laptop in the small space, then began to organize the papers in her arms as well as she could without appropriate surfaces to place them. Those forty-five minutes were not remotely entertaining.

She gave him another fifteen before she called – first his cell, then his landline. The bastard didn't answer. _Screw this._ She knocked soundly on the door. Nothing. Having already waited an hour, she wasn't willing to spend half the night on the front steps. She gathered up her things, got into her car and drove to the library.

Two hours later, her cell phone buzzed. She ignored it. Half an hour later, it buzzed again. Since she was between documents, she answered this time. "What?" she growled, obviously not happy.

"Where are you?" he asked, the sound echoed, his tone almost annoyed. He was in the entryway, looking for her.

"For all the attention you've been paying me, on the moon."

"I thought you were off at seven?"

She grumbled, "It's ten-thirty, Greg."

"Oh. Really?" She wasn't sure she believed he didn't realize.

"I'll be home when I'm finished, Greg." She closed her phone and got back to work.

At quarter after eleven, she walked into the darkened apartment, put her bags down, her keys in the basket, then went to the kitchen for a drink. "You done with – whatever it is you were doing?"

"Thinking," he replied.

"What?" she snapped.

"I'm done."


	2. Come Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows from "Out in the Cold;" picks up where it left off. Part II of II; Pre-S1, Pre-infarction

"Where were you?" he asked, pouting.

"Working," she replied.

"Not at your office," he stated. She knew he was trying to start an argument.

She folded an arm across her middle and sipped her drink. "Does it matter? You were obviously in here doing something _very_ important," she growled, rolling her eyes. "Who were you with?"

"Myself," he snapped back, frustrated that she had ignored his question.

"You were in here for three hours, by yourself?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded.

"So what were you doing?"

"Thinking," he answered again.

"About what?" she snapped, already exhausted with the conversation.

"My case."

She blinked once, slowly, then glared at him. "And you had to lock me out of the apartment for that?'

"Needed the quiet."

"So did I. I had work to do, Greg. I live here too, remember?"

He lowered his head. "Yeah. I remember. I'm sorry. I'm not used to sharing my space with someone else."

She sighed. He was right. This was new and stressful for both of them. There was no reason to fight about it anymore.

"I can learn to think with you here," he told her.

Stacy set her glass aside and approached the couch like a lioness on a hunt. Hands on his shoulders, she knelt over him, leaning down to get her mouth as close to his as possible without touching him. "Is that what you think?"

He clapped his hands to either side of her hips and rumbled back. "That's exactly what I think," before leaning in to bite at her throat while his hands slid themselves beneath the hem of her shirt. He felt her skin quiver beneath his fingers and all he could think about was how she felt when she was riding him.

Her high-pitched squeal when he whipped her shirt over her head, unfastened her pants, and plucked off her shoes, made him want her even more. He nudged her pants down her legs, then unfastened his jeans. "Come here," he rumbled to her, dragging her over his lap. He tore off her panties and pulled her down onto his cock, letting out a satisfied moan as she sank onto him.

She was warm – no, hot – and wet, ready for him. Post-argument sex was always some of their best.


End file.
